Waltzing Alone
by officersun524
Summary: Moya's crew participates in an unusual contest.


21st Starburst Challenge

Title: Waltzing Alone

Rating: PG13

Timing: Mid season 2

Summary: My answer to the 21st Starburst Challenge and another Seinfeldian ode (see "Blame it on the Rain" for the first ode). Thanks to sarahjane and Sunshine for feedback, beta and encouragement. Also, I have to admit to stealing the title from a Guggenheim Grotto album which has absolutely nothing to do with the subject of this fic. Not a thing.

Many virtual chocolates to you if you know on which one or two Seinfeld episodes this is based.

"You don't have to worry about me. I won a contest."

~~~George Costanza, Seinfeld episode 5.03, "The Puffy Shirt"

One Solar day later:

"So…Zhann, huh? Wouldn't have put money on that one." John pushed away from the counter where he'd been sitting, bracing his foot on the back of Aeryn's chair and nudging it slightly.

"It would appear so." Aeryn gave him one quick nod as she looked up from the bench below him. Her face was impassive as she glanced at him.

"But…not you?" He watched as she shook her hair back, the blackness fanning out around her shoulders. He felt that familiar pull in his groin. _Dammit, woman, that is cheating! Cheating!_

She smirked. "That is my personal business. I'll leave you to it." She stood up and walked away, her hips swaying oh so slightly in those leather pants, legs up to god knew where and—

_Baseball, baseball…!_ She wasn't going to win that easily.

Three Solar days earlier:

"Dammit! D'Argo!—Dammit." John zipped up, barely keeping his privates away from the sharp metal teeth of his zipper. He could hear D'Argo's booming laughter as his heavy footsteps beat a path away from John's door, but not nearly far or fast enough.

John adjusted his pants and followed D'Argo down the passageway, gesturing wildly as he went along.

"Man! Don't you believe in knocking?!" No, it hadn't been a great Playboy centerfold or even a Glamour magazine. Just her, always her, playing on the fringes of his ever more fertile imagination. Hell, he was way past the flowers and candy stage. Oh, no, he'd gone on to the full on f-

"I am so sorry, Crichton," D'Argo wheezed out between peals of laughter. "Truly. Truly….sorry! I mean…I'm sure it's been a long time." His words dissolved into incoherence.

"Yeah." John double stepped to keep up with him. "Those are the words of one who's just gotten laid. Yeah."

"Crichton." D'Argo stopped suddenly and turned to him, nearly causing John to crash land into his bulk. He patted John gingerly on the shoulder. "You should try it some time." He laughed again and started down the passageway again, John at his heels.

"Yeah. Would love to. Unfortunately, there aren't any ancient human mystics looking for a ride to the fountain of youth on the Johnny rocket so shut the hell up already. It's not funny—"

So not funny. The effect of D'Argo's untimely entrance into his quarters and the subsequent laughter had pretty much splashed one big bucket of cold water on John's afternoon activities. Damn. Not even his mom or sisters had ever managed such bad timing.

"Well, as Rygel might say—it's a perfectly natural bodily function. Or some such dren as that. I just didn't know…. the expression on your face—" D'Argo burst into laughter again.

"Don't you worry. I'm never doing _that_ again." But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, his evil mind conjured up yet one more set of images that he knew would make a liar of him real soon.

_Bikini, oh, yeah, the black one, or the underwear or maybe the Calvins, or maybe exactly what she wore every single damn day, that nice patch of skin between her vest and her pants giving his hands something to wish for…_

Goddamn it anyway.

"Not doing what?" Chiana's light-footedness had caught him off guard again. Both he and D'Argo stopped dead in the passageway and turned to her. Her face was upturned towards them, mouth twitching at the corner, fending off a smile.

"Do not!" John held up his finger in front of D'Argo's face. "Do not. Man to man, I'm begging you…"

"Man to man, huh?" Chiana's smile spread across her face. "That explains a lot about you, Crichton." She ran her index finger along his jaw line then pulled it away.

"No! I mean, no, that's not what I meant by man to man and…Shit…" He covered his face with his hands.

"Uh…I happened to catch Crichton at a, um…private moment." D'Argo wheezed laughter again. "Oh, come on, Crichton." He slapped John on the back. "You have to admit, it's humorous."

"I don't know about Luxan humor, D." He turned and started towards command, D'Argo and Chiana at his heels.

"Crichton." D'Argo sounded like he was trying to reason with a little kid. "John! It's funny!"

"What's funny?" Aeryn turned from the console as the three of them strode into command, John in front, one hand over half his face, Chiana bouncing along beside him and D'Argo behind him, still trying to convince him that his utter humiliation was hilarious.

She looked really annoyed.

Zhaan stood at the other console and Rygel hovered nearby.

"Pip …I'm asking… as a friend…" But begging wasn't going to help and he knew that his humiliation was about to become complete. Soon.

Chiana laughed again and sidled up to Aeryn. "Huh. It was nothing, Aeryn. Remember that time we caught him feeling you up, and you couldn't even enjoy it? That kind of thing…Except, you know, he got a little farther on his own." She cocked her head. "You know?"

"Oh, for frell's sake!" Aeryn exhaled her disgust.

D'Argo pointed a finger at her. "Exactly."

Zhaan smiled. "You know, John, it's nothing to be ashamed of. It's perfectly natural."

"Where I come from, it's not a spectator sport, Zhaan. Sorry, Blue, but you've turned it into an art form. Chiana, my little trollop, you'd probably sell tickets. D, my man, I'm sure Luxans actually have competitions to prove masculinity." He turned to Rygel then away. "Sparky…just. No. And Aeryn-"

His voice seemed to have caught in his throat as his eyes drank her in, head to foot, long black hair loose down her back, long curve of neck, her firm hands placed flat on the console. The last image of her in his mind languished there like the devil himself, beckoning him in.

"Your point?" Aeryn said. She leveled him with a glare that would have sent a far better man than he wilting into oblivion.

"My point. Yeah." He scratched the top of his head. "Um…my point is none of you are any better so shut up."

The area was quiet. He looked at each of them, all staring back at him like he'd grown two heads. Aeryn turned toward the forward portal but her voice floated to him in the silence, husky, almost breathless.

"That sounds like a challenge," she said.

Two Solar days later

"Well, D'Argo, I see you've learned a new skill." Rygel hovered nearby as D'Argo knelt over the waste tunnel, scrubbing it for all it was worth. "Is this your way of compensating?"

"Shut up, your lowness," he said between labored breaths.

"We have DRDs for that, you know. Or are you waiting for Chiana to bathe. That's no way to win this contest."

D'Argo sighed. "This is ridiculous."

Rygel slid back, his hands firmly on the armrests of his thronesled. No random eyebrow preening for him. No, not at all. "And yet, here you are. You Luxans truly _are_ competitive."

"Crichton." D'Argo continued his scrubbing with back and forth motions. "This is worse than that rock, paper game he taught me."

"Well, at least the waste tunnels will be clean enough to eat from." Rygel slid out, content that there was very little on this ship that piqued the interest of anything other than his stomachs.

_By the goddess, no._

"Zhaan. Did you hear me?" Pilot's voice rang through the comms. She thought she heard a touch of laughter in its undertones but, certainly, that was wrong. Pilot would never make light of such a thing. He had no interest in their activities.

_He has access to every corner of Moya._

That had never given her pause before. If anything, that knowledge had been a source of comfort and security.

"Yes, Pilot. I heard you. Solar flares. Yes." Of all times. Not that this challenge of Crichton's was of any consequence but…but still, self restraint was good for the soul.

Self restraint was much more difficult when faced with such temptations. It was nearly physiologically impossible.

"I'll be on the terrace, Pilot," she said, her voice laced with anticipation.

"Solar flares?" John raised his head from the engine of the module, nearly bumping into the module's hood. Timing was his friend this time, the module was set to go and…

And he needed someone who could pilot it while he took readings. Someone who'd flown it before and who'd practically be sitting on his lap, body tucked in close to his.

He glanced at that someone who seemed to have attached an invisible line between them. It seemed that wherever he was, she was. Currently, she had mounted the ladder to her Prowler, was bent over its engine with a DRD perched on either side of it.

She was reaching forward, far enough so that he could see that line of skin, smooth and white, unbelievably soft for someone who walked around with a hard shell on the outside.

He clenched his fingers, remembering that body, remembering being _inside_ that body but not in any normal human fashion. He'd _been _that body and that was just going to be one of those memories he'd _never_ tell his grandchildren…

Crap!

Solar flares.

His timing sucked.

She watched as he straightened up, head tilted to the side in thought, hair sticking up a little, and the pad of his thumb massaging his full lower lip.

Solar flares.

Aeryn wondered when he was going to broach the subject. It didn't matter; it seemed that no matter where she was, he was there as well.

She supposed that perhaps she didn't tempt him as much as she thought or, perhaps, he had more power of will than she'd credited him with.

She stretched forward for that last bit of wire and turned her head to catch a surreptitious glance of black t-shirt and leather.

_This is absolutely, frelling ludicrous…_She never thought that way, least of all about him, but he seemed everywhere.

He was looking at her, eyes blue and wide, looking straight through her and the sight made her feel like she'd just caught a charge from one of the wires in her hand.

_Frell me dead…_

No, wrong choice of words—

"Officer Sun? Crichton?" Pilot's voice cut through her reverie, gratefully, and both she and John turned away. She hit her head on the Prowler's hatch and let out a stream of curses. John glanced at her, one eyebrow raised in a question.

"Yes?" they answered in unison. She scrambled down the ladder, wiping her hands hard on her thighs, pressing the leather to her skin. John rounded the side of the module and they ended up in front of the clamshell, side by side, in spite of the metras of space around them.

"D'Argo requests your presence in command."

They looked at each other, then turned and walked in opposite directions, still somehow managing to jostle into each other as they fought for primacy through the doorway.

"On my honor, as a Luxan…" D'Argo rubbed one hand with the other and cleared his throat a few times. Chiana lounged against one console, smirking as Rygel hovered nearby. "It's just that…" He glanced at Chiana.

"What?" she said. "I needed to bathe."

D'Argo shook his head. His mouth opened, moved, but no words came out and he dropped his hands to his side.

"What he means to say is that he isn't going to win." Rygel snickered. "Pay up, Luxan. Luxans! So bodily function motivated."

"John, Aeryn, Chiana." He looked at each in turn. "Zhaan…?" He did a quick full turn then stopped. "Where's Zhaan?"

Pilot's cleared his throat as his image appeared over the clamshell. "Zhaan is…occupied."

"Occupied?" D'Argo looked puzzled.

The light from the flares filled command, bathing them all in a white shaft of light. It seemed like it illuminated their thoughts at the same time.

"Well!" Aeryn said.

"Oh..." D'Argo nodded vigorously. "'Occupied'. The solar flares, the light..."

John held up both hands, palms out. "Big guy. Some things are better left unsaid." He glanced around the room. "And then there were four…"

One Weeken Later

"I honestly don't know where you come up with these ideas." Aeryn walked beside him from merchant stall to merchant stall. Solid ground, past the solar flares that had faded out almost as quickly as they'd come.

He never had gotten the chance to fire up the module.

"I think it was your idea. And since I haven't seen you near me in a day or two, I figured I won."

Someone had won and he knew it wasn't him, not after the solar flares, and the module and the jostling in the doorway and the images that had pretty much taken up permanent residence in his brain space.

He stuck his hands in his empty pockets. Shopping with no money at all.

"You?" She stopped and turned to him, nose to nose. Her scent filled his nostrils, her smile spreading slowly across her face. He put a hand on her waist.

"Yeah. Me."

She laughed, rich and throaty. She that tooketh away sure could give and right now…he was just glad the contest had ended. He'd have to file that sound away for a rainy day.

"Oh, I seriously doubt that, Crichton. You're a guy, remember? A guy? Don't guys dream about this sort of thing?"

"Gimme a break. I saw you…"

"Saw me?" Her voice trailed off. For a minute, Crichton thought that maybe she was thinking he had seen her…well…as _not _the master of her domain.

_Well, now, there was one more thing to fuel the fires…_

He shook his head and cleared his throat. "Never mind. So, really. When did you break?"

"As I told you before, that's my personal business. And it will remain so."

"Then how am I gonna know who won?" He ran a finger through her hair.

"So then it wasn't you?" She didn't move away.

"Well…a gentleman never tells." But now he really wanted to know.

"And?" She folded her arms across her chest, her smile still intact.

"And…you really need to keep your Peacekeeper underwear out of my way. That's all." He dipped in toward her hair. "And quit smelling so damn good. And…ah. Never mind."

She smiled. "I'll try to remember that. Come on." She pulled on his arm. "Let's see if I have enough currency for a new pistol."

"How did you do it, Chiana?" Rygel slid next to her, hovering over a stall of fresh fruit, all of it too expensive for their pockets.

Before.

"Do what?" She reached out, picked up a ripe piece of fruit and raised it to her nose. The scent was intoxicating and she held it out to Rygel. "Prowsa fruit."

"It makes an excellent wine. Are you going to answer my question?"

"How about you go first."

He cackled. "Not a Hynerian in sight and enough food to keep me occupied. D'Argo scrubbing a waste tunnel. Too much white flesh from those other two and the mop and bucket to the terrace. It's enough to put one off for cycles. You?"

"Timing is everything, Rygel." She thumped him on the head and turned to the merchant, the fruit still in her hand. "How much for this?"

"Three krindars."

"Three?" Rygel sputtered. "Why, that's robbery. Look at it, barely ripe. It's likely a cast off from a winery, and we know how spoiled those are." He felt his pockets. "My girl here can be trusted to get your money. We'll pay three for four."

The merchant leaned forward, greedy purple eyes matching the skin of the prowsa fruit. "How can you be trusted?'

Chiana smiled and shrugged, bringing the fruit to her mouth. She bit into it, feeling the warm juice dribble down her chin. She wiped it with the back of her hand.

"Oh, we can be trusted. We won a contest." She winked at Rygel. He reached into his pocket for three coins and laid them in front of the merchant.

"This one is on me."

##END##


End file.
